


in fear and love

by cartoonheart



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22469611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cartoonheart/pseuds/cartoonheart
Summary: It wasn't supposed to be the day that Andrew slams a wrecking ball into her life.
Relationships: Meredith Grey/Andrew DeLuca
Comments: 39
Kudos: 132





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as ever to the awesome [KatieWho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieWho/pseuds/KatieWho), beta extraordinaire.
> 
> This is the first part of a two part fic. Good news is that part two is already written, so you shouldn't have to wait too long for that to be posted, unless I get hit by a bus in the meanwhile. 
> 
> The fic is set at some indeterminate point in the future.
> 
> Look me up on [tumblr](https://cartoon-heart.tumblr.com/), if you feel like it.

"Meredith?" Maggie's voice floats through the entrance way, followed by her footsteps, and then finally her. "Mer?"

She draws up what little energy she has remaining in her body. "In here," she murmurs from her situation horizontal on her couch, blanket up around her neck. She's shaking even though she's not cold. Her limbs feel like dead weights.

Maggie takes in the scene and immediately falls into concern. "I came as soon as I got your text. What's the matter? Are you sick?" She's quickly on her knees in front of her, the cool palm of her hand stroking back her hair. Meredith shivers again.

She's not sure she has the strength to say the words, even though she can see the blossoming worry in Maggie's eyes. She squeezes the object in her hand tighter, like it might give her strength, even though it's the thing that caused this problem, this _situation_ , in the first place.

"Mer?"

She tries to draw a breath, to settle her racing heart. Meredith's not sure how to articulate her thoughts - there are too many, they are coming too fast. And besides, saying them aloud makes them real. Once she voices them, she can't shut everyone out. The village will come running, and she'll have to let it.

"Andrew-" she chokes out finally, and even the weight of his name falling out of her mouth is too much. Fresh tears threaten to fall. Meredith doesn't cry often these days. She's shed enough tears to last her many lifetimes, and so now reserves them for things that matter. But this matters.

"Andrew?" Maggie questions, frown growing. Her knees settle deeper into position, and she reaches out to brush the dampness from Meredith's cheeks. "Is he okay? Has something happened to him?" Meredith can hear the panic rising in her tone. Maggie cares about him too, so it isn't right to worry her like this.

"He's okay," she manages to say, throat tight, although the words don't feel right either. He's probably not okay - but he's alive, which is what Maggie is really asking, she knows. It's worrying that this is the bar with which her family measures things. 

"Then what?" Maggie insists. "Oh, do you want me to get him for you? Is that what you mean? I can call him?" Meredith barely has a chance to comprehend the quickfire questions before Maggie starts rifling through her jacket pocket, looking for her phone.

"No!" Meredith cries, an arm reaching out from under her blanket to stop her sister. "Please don't call him."

Maggie looks utterly perplexed. It's the same expression that Meredith's seen on Richard's face over the years. "Mer, please tell me what's going on? What's happened?"

With what little strength she has, Meredith pushes herself into an upright position on the couch. Her skin feels raw, like any protection from the world has been stripped away. Everything hurts. 

She looks down at Maggie, face tilted up to her in deep concern. She wishes she didn't have to say it, that somehow Maggie could just know. That somewhere, deep down, their sisterly bond would choose now to rear its head and let her just figure it out. Meredith pulls her other hand out from underneath the blanket, curled in a tight fist. 

Maggie glances down. "What's that?" 

Meredith releases her grasp on the item, letting it settle in the middle of her palm. It isn't heavy, but it feels like it weighs the world at the moment. The smooth texture of the velvet case is soft to the touch, but now that she's looking at it again, the tears threaten to come anew.

The expression on Maggie's face turns from concern to shock. She looks down and then up again, eyes tracing her sister's face. "Is that-?"

Meredith nods, as she stares down at the box. Such a small object to cause such big problems. "Yes," she answers because she doesn't want Maggie to spell it out. That makes it real, and it feels far too real as it is. 

"Mer..." Her name is an exhale on Maggie's lips, and she can see her sister connecting the dots, finding that they draw a line that she now understands. She smiles. "That's great, Mer." She hesitates a moment, taking in Meredith's red rimmed eyes. "Isn't it?"

Maggie thinks the tears are from happiness, maybe. But no, there's something she doesn't understand. She hasn't got the full story. 

Meredith takes a deep breath, tries to draw up that inner strength she knows she has, even if it is trying to escape her right now. "Andrew asked me to marry him this morning." She can barely get the words out, can hardly believe she's saying them in the first place. "So I broke up with him."

\---

She hears a door slam, another cacophony of footsteps, of noise. 

"What did he do?" It's Alex. His voice is loud and demanding and angry. Meredith wants to tell him to calm down, that she's had enough raised voices for quite one day, but she just sinks down further under her blanket. Her couch feels like a cocoon, comforting and warm. 

The ring box is now sitting on her coffee table, staring accusingly at her. She doesn't know why Andrew left it here. Did he think it would make a difference? That she would change her mind? She hasn't even looked at the ring - not really. Only just quickly when he opened the box to present it to her with a look of complete and utter love. It's then that all hell had broken loose.

Maggie is hot on Alex's heels, as he sits on the edge of the couch, pushing Meredith further back into the pillows. He's never been one for ceremony in a crisis.

"Mer, do I need to kick his ass? Do I need to beat him up for freakin' real this time? Because I will, you know I will."

"Alex!" Maggie bites, trying to interject. She nods subtly towards the coffee table, and Meredith sees Alex follow her eyeline.

"What-?" he starts gruffly, before clocking the box. His eyes widen slowly before turning back to her horizontal form. "He asked you to marry him." His tone is neutral, thankfully. He knows her well enough that nothing is ever simple. The good can be bad, and vice versa. He's waiting for her to steer him in the right direction.

Meredith nods. Her throat feels too dry and scratchy to speak. There's a lump in her chest that feels like it is crushing her. Today was supposed to be a normal day. A day where she and her perfectly reasonable boyfriend, whom she loves, chat over breakfast coffee, and head off to work, to the jobs they also love. It wasn't supposed to be the day that Andrew slams a wrecking ball into her life. 

"Isn't that a good thing? Or did you say no?"

She's not sure how to answer that. Technically she did say no, right? Because she definitely didn't say yes and now he's gone, and she's pretty sure he won't be back any time soon after all the things she said, all the lies she told to get him to leave. Meredith Grey: the queen of avoiding happiness at every turn.

Alex is waiting for her reply, staring down at her with that face of his that is almost as familiar as her own. She knows things are bad when he looks at her like that.

Maggie saves her, spells it out so Meredith doesn't have to. "He asked her to marry him, and... so she broke up with him." Meredith can hear the slight disbelief in Maggie's voice, even though she can tell she's trying really hard to temper it. But Meredith also accepts that what she's done doesn't make complete sense, even for her - she's not an idiot. She can see how it may seem insane to an outsider. On some level it seems insane to her too.

A heavy silence settles over the room, and Meredith thinks it might engulf her.

"Jesus Christ, Mer. That's messed up, even for you." 

It's only Alex that could make her laugh at a time like this.

\---

Meredith sleeps fitfully that night, curled up in her own bed with Maggie next to her. Every time her sister moves, Meredith jars awake, expecting Andrew's presence, only to be disappointed. 

She knows she's bought this on herself, but that doesn't mean she has to like it. 

She has her reasons for doing what she did, even if she can't articulate them anywhere beyond her own mind at the moment. Meredith only knows that as soon as he'd pulled that ring box out of his pocket, eyes alight and oh so hopeful, she could do nothing but disappoint him. There had been harsh words and untruths in the moments that followed. But something in Meredith knew that the only way for her to make this situation permanent and irretrievable was to burn everything they once had to the ground. If she leaves anything standing, any hope at all, she isn't being fair to him. The ties needed to be severed, rather than unknotted gently.

Maggie had tried to pry it out of her - the cold hard facts, the reasoning. After all, hadn't they been happy? Hadn't everything been great?

Happiness wasn't the problem, Meredith knows, as she rolls onto her back and stares up at the ceiling. They had been happy. 

But there is more to this. Happiness is great, but she won't have hers at the cost of his, and that is what she foresees. Maybe not now or tomorrow, but inevitably, down the line. 

There is something about saying the actual words, releasing the fear inside her, that would make it too real. It would be like conjuring up the ghost of something that always haunts her: everytime she forgets her keys, or can't remember someone's name.

She can't tie him to that. She won't.

\---

Three days.

Three days he stays away, and it's an eternity. Meredith muddles through those three days at the hospital. She's in a haze, she can't lie. She makes sure she only does things that she can do from muscle memory, simple procedures - nothing fancy. She's always been the sort to use work as a bandaid, and this is no different. It keeps her mind occupied, even though with every minute she's terrified that she'll come face to face with him in the corridor - and have to see that hurt all over again.

Amelia and Alex watch her studiously, looking for the cracks in her armour. But she won't give them - or anyone else - the satisfaction. In addition, Maggie hovers - smothering her with questions about her wellbeing, about how she is holding up. She reports that Andrew's told Bailey he's taking a few days off, and Meredith waits for the relief to come, but it doesn't.

Three days. It takes three days until he's there on her doorstep. The worst part is that she knew he'd come eventually, is perhaps even disappointed that it took him so long. But what does she expect? She can't rewrite everything they've become to one another, and then not expect him to question her. She can't erase the past, all the soft words whispered to one another in the dark, and twist them into a new version to suit her needs now. He may have let her in the shock of the moment, but that's not the same as forever.

"Hi," he says, as he stands there on her doorstep. It's late - probably too late for this.

"Hi," she echoes, gripping the door frame so hard that her fingernails hurt. He looks terrible - or at least as terrible as someone as handsome as him can look. There are dark half moons under his eyes, but then again, Meredith knows hers probably match. She doesn't invite him in.

Instead, she waits for him to say something, but he doesn't. Andrew just stands there, looking lost and untethered, and a wave of guilt washes over her. Her own body seems determined to betray her. Her muscles shake, as if they are magnets trying to resist the pull of their familiar opposite. Nothing about this is easy for her. And although he might not see it now, this is for the best, she knows, even though all she wants to do is press herself against his body and seek comfort. But she can't do that - it wouldn't be fair. She's the one that let this get too far. She got too comfortable. It's her fault.

"Andrew, why are you here?" The question is redundant of course, and sounds harsher than she means it. But she has to be the strong one - there is no other choice. There can be no going back.

His eyes narrow, a hard expression that she's never seen from him before. He's not sad enough to not be angry with her, to not bite back, and she thinks that is only reasonable in the circumstances. "Why do you think, Mer?"

Everything else he leaves unspoken: _because you broke my heart, because you said you couldn't marry me, because you said you didn't love me_. And that's only the beginning. 

Meredith feels a rush of hot shame course through her belly at the last one, the ultimate lie, the one that she thought would break him to such an extent that he could never forgive her, never speak to her again.

"I said everything I needed to say," she replies stubbornly. She wants him to go, and yet she can't bear the thought of it. 

Andrew's brow furrows and he sighs loudly, pressing his own hand to the doorframe, only inches from her own. If she moved slightly, she could brush her fingertip to his. In contrast, his feet don't budge, don't even creep towards the threshold. "I heard what you said," he says finally. His tone is calmer than she expects given the tension in his body, the general anxiety that seems to be radiating off him in waves. "But I want the truth this time."

Frustration flares inside her. "You _got_ the truth, Andrew. I'm sorry if it wasn't wh-what you wanted to hear. But I can't say anything else that will change things."

His eyes flash in annoyance. "Look. I can accept if you don't... that you don't want to... marry me." His jaw sets, and she knows what that must have cost him to say. "But I can't accept that everything else... all the times that you claimed to _love_ me... were a lie."

She can't blame him for the question. After all, he's right. She's turned on a dime, denied hours and months of evidence that said the opposite.

Meredith knows what she needs to say to get him to leave. There's only one path to her destination and yet it is the one that costs her the most, requires her to sacrifice the most of herself. It had broken her in half to lie to him - to say that she didn't love him. She's not sure there are fragments left of herself to repeat the task.

She knows that if she says them again, here and now, it will be over. She will shatter him, and them, and herself - but it will be over, and he'll be free. Yes, she'll have to live with the guilt of the pain she's caused, the fog of probably always missing him, but he'll get over it. Andrew is young. He'll have a chance to love again, without the ties, and the complications and the ticking clock.

But the words are stuck in her throat, like lumps of clay. So instead she does the next best thing and says nothing.

After a moment, he huffs quietly, as if he expected this from her - the silence, the walls climbing higher and higher so that he'd never reach the top. "Fine," he says, shoulders sloping, hand dropping away from the door frame. In the half light she can see the wetness of his eyes, the sheen they've taken with the weight of holding himself together. "I'll go. I don't want to be the guy who won't accept what you want. But, I guess... I guess I just need to know... what... what changed? What happened?"

There is no answer she can give him there. It had been wonderful and exciting and everything she thought she'd never find again in her life. But it had been a dream, really. One that had fallen apart as soon as he'd offered her the one thing she could never accept - his permanence in her life.

"I-" she starts, before faltering. "Nothing changed. Nothing that I can explain. I just... I can't." It's no explanation at all.

"Is this about Derek?" His tone is accusatory and she can't help but retaliate. 

"God, you can't just - no!" She wants to shove him, but she doesn't trust herself not to cling to him. Meredith opts to contain her aggression instead. "Well, yes, but no - please, Andrew. Don't ask me any more!"

"Fine - _fine_." His words punch the air, frustration finally boiling over. "But you can't keep living with ghosts, Meredith. I know you love him - I've always accepted that. But I love you _here_. I love you _now_. I want this, with you. You have no idea how much. And if you think that Derek would want you to-"

"-you don't get to say about what my husband would have wanted! You didn't know him!" 

"No, I didn't! But he's not here! And I know that's terrible and horrible, but if that's the reason - if that's why you're... god, I don't even know, then-"

"It's not him, okay? This isn't about Derek. It's about _you_!" The words are out before she can stop them, as if pulled from her mouth by a force she can't explain. She feels sick, this whole thing makes her feel sick. God, how has it come to this? She's destroying the man she loves - willingly, without pleasure.

He stares at her for what feels like an eternity, the impact of what she's said soaking through his skin, folding him in on himself. "Oh," he breathes quietly after a moment. "Well, okay. I'm... I'm going to go. I'm... sorry. For coming here. For not... being what you needed, I guess. God, I... don't even know." He laughs bitterly, a sound she's not sure she's ever heard from his lips before, and the brutality of what she's done sucks the air from her lungs. 

He lingers for a moment on the doorstep, as if torn between approaching her one last time, and retreat. After a moment, he takes a few steps backwards, and it feels like a chasm opening up between them - a gulf filled with everything unsaid, and at the heart of it, the crushing unbearable loneliness that lies before her.

When he turns his back to her, something inside her snaps. She can't do it - or at least, she can't do it like _this_. She can't watch him walk away, allowing him to think that he is the problem, when if anything, it is her, all her, who has lit the match. Meredith had thought it would be easier this way, that short term cruelty would be kinder in the long run. But she hadn't properly factored in that this was Andrew - and that, if anything, there was no scenario in which he would not somehow blame himself for failing her in some way.

She can't bear it.

He's halfway down the stairs before she can will her legs to move. She knows that if she follows, she has to admit it all, unmask herself in the most vulnerable way possible, and yet still make him walk away. She can't win here, but she's prepared herself for that. But maybe the truth is better than this purgatory she's resigned him to.

The skin of his hand is cool to the touch as she reaches out for him. It doesn't feel like his, like perhaps it is some strangers. When he turns to look at her, she can read the confusion, the questions in his eyes, the way he looks down at their joined hands to check as if what is happening is real. 

"Come sit with me," she says quietly, gesturing to the porch swing behind them. Just last week they had sat out here after dinner, her legs stretched out across his own, and made out like they were teenagers. From the look on his face, the memory hasn't escaped him either.

Meredith feels him hesitating, and the fact that he is scares her. She can't blame him, of course. She's done her worst, and even Andrew's threshold for pain when it comes to her has a breaking point. She's tested it and tested it, and knows she's far over the line. 

"Please," she asks finally, one last favour. This is still over, she knows - it can't be anything but. Nevertheless, she can set him adrift rather than let him sink.

\---


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to know where she should begin. After all, there is no natural starting point for what she needs to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for their kind words on the first half of this fic. It humbled me more than words can say. 
> 
> Thanks to [KatieWho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieWho/pseuds/KatieWho) for her beta.

It's hard to know where she should begin. After all, there is no natural starting point for what she needs to say. 

Instead, Meredith stares at the moths that flutter around the porch light, watching them retreat from the source, only to return again and again. Their ritual soothes her as much as she uses it as a distraction.

Her hand hasn't released his, as they sit there side by side, his thigh pressed against her own. Even when he has every right to hate her, he can't help but stay close. And as much as she wants to enjoy it, this peaceful moment with him - it will be the last, she knows, and it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. She feels the graze of his thumb over her knuckles, and every bone in her body wants to lean into him, to just collapse into his bulk and let him absorb everything that is weighing on her.

It would just be so easy to stay here like this with him. She imagines erasing the last few days, and swallowing everything down inside of her. She could retain his goodness, his devotion, his unending heart. But then she imagines her fears for the future coming to life - of the hurt and resentment that would follow, of the years lost, and pain it would cause. It makes her sick to her stomach, but it's what she needs to remind herself of why she's doing this.

"So?" he says quietly, after a while. It's so faint that it could have been the breeze except the fact that he turns his head to look at her, and she knows this is her cue.

"So," she stumbles blindly, searching for the right words. She releases his hand, and presses her own tightly to her thighs, trying to ground herself. She misses the connection, but it feels wrong to be too tender with him given what she's about to do. She can sense his eyes on her, but keeps her own straight ahead. It's easier.

"So," she starts again, and opts for the practical. "I'll return the ring to you. It's... it's upstairs. I didn't want to-"

Any calm that may have existed is broken immediately. "Really, Mer? You sat me down here to talk about _the ring_?" A sudden coldness laces his tone, deep and disbelieving.

"No, I just... I thought you'd want to know. That you'd want it back."

His inhale is sharp, pointed. "I don't want it back."

"But it's yours-"

He rises sharply to his feet, and turns on her. "I don't want it back! Why would I want it _back_?" His hands grab at the air as he speaks. "If I'm just here so you can talk about the practicalities of whatever the hell is going on here, then send me a text, put it in an email - throw my stuff in a box and _post_ it to me, I don't care. But don't make me sit here and listen to a step by step guide of how you are going to disassemble our relationship." 

Meredith is unaccustomed to the expression on his face. There's so much hurt and anger, and she hates it - hates that she put it there, and hates that it is directed at her, even though it's understandable. She feels so small sitting there, his presence looming over her, dark and ominous like a wounded raincloud about to burst. He's all storm and fury, and there's nothing she can do but take it. 

She gives him a second before responding. "I'm sorry! It's just... this isn't easy for me either."

His return is quick, but less heated this time. But for however strangled his voice sounds, the sad look in his eyes doesn't change. "Then why are you doing it?" It's a fair question.

She sighs, hands coming up to tuck some stray strands of hair behind her ears. "It's not that simple, Andrew." His name feels too rich in her mouth, like it doesn't deserve to be there. 

His jaw sets stubbornly, a tic forming on one side, and he shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket with unnecessary force. "Then please," he says, temper on the razor edge of impatient, "explain it to me."

Her throat feels thick. "I can't." She can't, she doesn't want to, it's too hard. It all equates to the same thing.

He huffs. "Then why the hell am I still standing here, Mer?" There is a plea in his eyes that is verging on heartbreaking. "You're the one who asked me to stay." 

He's right. She could have let him walk away just now, off her porch and probably out of her life forever. It was her who had stopped him, had wanted to ease his pain, and yet now she's doing the opposite and simply prolonging it. She knows why she's doing it. He's her lifeline and she wants to cling to this version of him as long as possible - the version that, while mad, doesn't know the truth about what her future likely holds. 

She reaches for him again, fingers curling around his wrist this time. She's not sure if he'll take her hand, and she doesn't want the pain of finding out. Gently she guides him back down next to her and is relieved when he complies. The familiar ache returns.

Meredith takes a deep breath. It's now or never. "My mother," she says finally. Because that's where it all starts, she knows, even if that doesn't make any immediate sense to anyone but her.

"Your mother?" Andrew questions, face folding into confusion. Any edges he had moments ago have calmed and his knee grazes hers as he angles on the swing to face her. Meredith tries to ignore the roar of her body at his slight touch. 

"My mother," she repeats, like a mantra - like it is the key to everything, and to be fair, it is. "You never knew her, of course. But I'm sure you know the basics."

"Of course," he murmurs, brow furrowing, trying to follow where she's going. Naturally, he knows of Ellis Grey - even if it is just from his medical school text books and nostalgic hospital gossip. 

"What you may not know," Meredith says, "is that she had Alzheimer's."

His eyes soften in sympathy. "I'm sorry," he says sincerely, his large hand settling on her knee in a gesture of comfort. His face is second nature to her, his emotions an open book. She can tell his own mother crosses his mind, a woman that she knows he loved very much, misses constantly. 

"It was a long time ago," she reassures him. "And my mother was not an easy woman. But that's... that's not the point."

He scans her face and leans back into the swing. It rocks a little with the motion. "Okay," he nods calmly, patiently, even though she can see the wheels in his brain rapidly turning, trying to connect the dots. Being on the receiving end of his undivided attention should be something she's used to by now, but it never fails to make her feel exposed.

There is no way for her to ease into this next part. "When... when I was with Derek... when we had the kids, I decided to get tested - for the Alzheimer's gene." A wave of nausea rolls through her at the words, the implications. It's been a long time since she's had to say this out loud. On most days, it feels far from her reality, like it's something that couldn't possibly be true. She feels fit and healthy. The concept is so abstract to her that perhaps that's why she's never told him any of this. It's just been a big gaping hole in her story and he doesn't know a thing about it.

But then Andrew had asked her the question - that big question that had meant that her future - and _that_ potential future - wasn't just hers anymore. He was asking to share her life when he didn't know what that could possibly mean. 

Meredith's not a pessimist by nature, although given everything she's gone through, perhaps she has the right to be. But she is a realist - like most doctors are. Hope is a tool, but it can't be relied on, and while she knows her chances, knows the odds of what she dreads coming to pass, the risk is too high. She won't tie Andrew to something like this. It's not fair.

It takes a moment for him to follow her statement through to the next logical conclusion, but Meredith can see the instant the realisation hits him. His eyes search hers in disbelief, in bewilderment. He looks like he's had the wind knocked out of him. Watchfully she follows the rough stroke of his hand across his forehead, and then back through his curls. She focuses on how easily they fall back into place instead of the way he's looking at her. 

"Shit, Mer."

She licks her dry lips. "Yeah," she replies into the heavy silence. Her hands are starting to shake so she tucks them between her thighs so that he doesn't see. His grip on her knee tightens.

"But, it... it may never happen. After all, these tests are just an indicator. They don't mean-"

"I was positive for more than one of the genetic markers," she points out, and it feels brutal to cut him down like this. But she needs him to understand it all as clearly as possible - needs him to understand _why_ this is the way it all has to be.

He shakes his head rapidly, forcefully. "But it still may never happen, and even if it _did_ , it might be decades-"

"-and it might not be," she interjects, because now is not the time for his natural optimism. She won't have him placating her. This is difficult enough.

"Is this...? Is this why you...?" He can't bring himself to finish the words, list her actions of the past few days. 

"Yes," she says, and is pleased to note she sounds more resolute than she feels. "And I can't tie you to that, to _me_ , in those circumstances."

He frowns. "But isn't that _my_ decision to make?" He makes it sound so simple, so obvious. And this was always going to be the problem - he's too noble, too full of romantic ideals, to walk away. Meredith knows by now that he'd never willingly leave her - a fact that, until yesterday, had given her nothing but comfort.

She shoves his hand off of her knee - his touch feels suffocating, oppressive, now that the difficult part has arrived. "You'd be making the decision blindly, Andrew! You might say now that it doesn't matter, that you'll love me anyway. But how could I do that to you? How could I tie you to a woman who may only be able to give you another decade of good days, maybe less? Even if you could do it, I _can't_. I can't bear the idea of making you miserable."

His response follows hotly. "And so it's irrelevant that you're making me miserable now? You don't get to decide this for me, Mer." 

"It's better this way. Making the break now is easier."

"So that's it? You're just going to cut yourself off from any happiness at all? Forever? If you felt that way, why be with me at all?" 

It's true that she doesn't want to be alone. It had taken her years to get past that point, after Derek. When she had finally accepted Andrew as someone she could see herself with, it had been a relief to stop fighting it. He had made love feel like something to be accepted - something that she didn't have to be afraid of. 

But there's a difference between letting him in and binding him to her. There's a difference between loving him and accepting that her love is not the best thing for him.

"Up until now you've always been free to walk away, Andrew. You're not obligated to me - to what may happen to me. And all this time I could live with that, knowing you had that choice."

"So this is about marriage?" He sounds bewildered. "Fine - we don't get married, if that's what you're worried about. We'll grow old in sin if that's what it takes." A hint of a grin forms around his mouth, before flicking away just as quickly. "But I'm not going anywhere. This doesn't change anything for me, Meredith." His hands clamber earnestly for her own, grasping them tightly in her lap. He's leaning so close that she could kiss him, and wouldn't that be easier?

"Andrew," she says, and it's so quiet, barely a murmur. He makes it sound so simple - so plausible. "That's not the solution here."

"Oh, and so your solution is what?" His breath ghosts her cheek as he ducks his head closer to her. "That I give up the woman I love because of some hypothetical future that may never happen?" His nose presses against her cheek and she hates that she doesn't resist. "You just expect me to walk away from you, this family, this life we've built together? Do you really think that what you've told me makes a difference?" 

"It's not about what you want," she manages to reply, her voice now falling to a low whisper. He's so close that her mind's going fuzzy and god, isn't it degrading that this man can do that to her? 

"Is that so?" he teases, which given the circumstances feels out of place. It makes her wonder if he's taking this seriously at all, before he continues. "I'll tell you what, Mer. If you don't want me here, if you genuinely want me to go," he tilts his head just a fraction and there is only air between their mouths now, "then I will. If you can tell me, one more time, that you don't love me, then I'll go." There's a sad desperation in his voice that makes her eyes flicker shut in pain. It's not a challenge anymore, but a plea. 

It's a bold move, a risky one. She's stubborn, and Andrew knows that she's not one to back down when she's cornered. But this isn't a fight, and she's had three days of missing him, three days of realising the truth of a life without him. That's not to say that she thinks she's wrong, or that she doesn't think her path is the right one. But it does mean she's as weak and as vulnerable as he is right now.

She lets a long moment of silence fall over them - searches her heart. Lying would be the easiest way to her goal. A few words and he would be gone forever and this would be over. But she can't do it. She can't take all the tenderness and love she feels, and erase it all. There's no way she can simply just crush it down and live with herself. 

"You know I can't say any of those things," she answers finally, softly. Meredith can hear his audible relief, feels his forehead press against hers in reverence. She's grateful her eyes are still closed. If she could see the expression on his face, she knows she'd likely burst. 

He releases one of her hands, and she feels his warm palm skating down her neck. It's like heaven, his touch. "Good," he breathes, as his eyelashes graze her skin. And then he kisses her.

It's gentle at first, almost cautious - like if he moves too quickly, he might startle her. Meredith feels the same, like if she were to pull her to him, this could all be a horrible dream and she'd wake up on her couch staring at a ring box and Alex's angry face.

It doesn't take long for the tentativeness to fade, for his lips to press more firmly, seek her more openly. It's far too simple for her to surrender. It's only been days without him and that's already too long. Their mouths clash in desperation, breaths mingle hotly. A gasp, a push and pull before her hands curl into the collar of his jacket, and his weave into the lengths of her hair. It's a relief that she can do this, that she can touch him. In the back of her mind, she knows this shouldn't be happening - but there is no denying it that she wants it. God, does she want it.

This isn't helping the situation, she knows - even as she manoeuvres herself astride his lap, precarious given that she won't tear her mouth from his, coupled with the rocking motion of the swing. He scoops her into his arms like she's weightless, neck arching up to her perched above him.

Does this solve the problem? Of course it doesn't. Even as his mouth slants across hers, arms tight across her back, their hips locked together, she knows that their conversation isn't over. She can love him, and want him, and want _this_ and still feel uneasy, still have doubts. It's easier for Andrew to be dismissive - or at least, not think this through. He's single minded and she loves that about him - apart from the times when his mind conflicts with her own.

Even as she tugs at his curls, and he lets out a grunt of appreciation, Meredith can't disconnect from her mind completely. Can he really live with the repercussions here? Could he still love her when the day comes where she forgets who he is?

That's the thought that does it - that jars her from him, his mouth left searching for hers, red and swollen. He looks dazed, eyes hooded, and it's a look that she wants to memorise.

"Stop," she says even after the fact that they both have. He stares up at her, and even in the dim porch light she can see his pupils are blown. Meredith lays a palm across his chest and feels the rapid thrum of his heartbeat, knowing her own matches in rhythm. It takes seconds for her to tumble off his lap, backing away until her spine hits the frame of her porch across from him.

Distance, yes. Distance is good.

He looks forlorn and makes a move to follow until she holds a hand up to him, a gesture to stop. He does. 

"You stay there," she instructs, while still fumbling to find the ledge behind her to steady herself. The way that he's looking at her is not helping. This is exactly why she needs to be stronger.

Andrew doesn't respond, just gazes across the divide at her. Slowly he leans forward, forearms coming to rest against his thighs, his hands clasped together in front of him. His hair is everywhere, and it reminds her of how he looks first thing in the morning, splayed across her sheets, across her body. She has to force the memory down. 

As the silence grows, a frown settles across his features. He opens his mouth to say something, but she speaks before he can. 

"Andrew, I don't think you're taking this seriously." The tonal shift is abrupt. They've gone from zero to one hundred and then back again in a matter of minutes, and her head is still spinning.

His eyebrows shoot up, and it's clear he's resisting the urge to rise to his feet. "Trust me, Mer. I couldn't be more serious when I tell you that I accept whatever the future may hold for us - good and bad."

"You're being naive," she points out. It's not often that she uses his age and inexperience against him, but it feels applicable here. He's being idealistic and romantic, and she needs him to be practical. She knows she's wavering in the face of his strength, his blunt insistence that he's in this. There is no room for pretence here.

His face is like stone, flat and serious. "I'm not some kid, Mer. I know what this all means. I _get_ what you're telling me. I'm just telling you that I'm prepared for that, should it happen."

"You're prepared?" She scoffs. She can't hold the bitter truths back any more. "Really? You're prepared? How prepared are you going to be when you have to place me in a care home so I don't endanger myself? For the day that I can't cut anymore, but still think I should be at the hospital? Are you really ready for the day that I wake up, roll over, and call you Derek?"

Her words ring out, slicing through the night air like a knife. She hates herself for saying these things, for laying such a reality at their feet. Her veins feel like ice, her heart like a block of cement. Andrew looks like she's punched him in the gut, his face an expression of such raw pain and hurt that she might as well have skinned him alive. After a moment he breaks from her gaze, stares down at his feet, and is silent.

The quiet is suffocating. Meredith feels hot tears stinging her eyes, but is determined to not let them fall. This is what she wanted. She wanted him to _see_ her fears, hear the harsh truth of what may come. It's not like she wants to imagine any of the things she's just described. But they're all the things that prey on her in her darkest moments. They are all things that may come to pass. 

She hates to do this to him. But Andrew needs to understand why walking away is the path of least resistance. She won't judge him for it - lord knows if she could walk away from it, she would. Meredith won't have him be a hero and then come to regret it. 

She takes a shaky breath. "Andrew, you deserve a future better than the one I can give you. And I know that this is what you think you want." His head stays resolutely down as she speaks, and there is nothing more that she wants to do than place a hand between his hunched shoulders to comfort him. "And god, it's not that I don't want that for us. You have no idea how tempting it is for me to just be with you and forget the rest. But I want better for you than this - than _me_. I want you to have a life that is full of love, that lasts, that's going to make you happy rather than make you miserable. I have to let you have that, even if it's not with me."

The sentiments hang in the air, settling around them both. Meredith finally, _finally_ , feels some element of peace. The truth is out, her fears are laid bare. There is nothing further she can say to make him understand, and she thinks that he finally must. She can hear his quiet breath across from her, the only sound that indicates he's still there, in the half shadowed light. 

Meredith can't lie. There is no perfect solution here. Her selfish want for him to stay makes her heart crack open with guilt. But the idea of him leaving, of her sacrificing her happiness for his, gives her no joy either. But she finally accepts that what happens next is out of her hands.

She hears him sigh heavily. His head looks up from its bowed position, and his gaze connects with hers. It is direct, blunt, earnest in that way he always seems to have with her. Her stomach twists itself into a knot of longing. 

"That all sounds very noble," he says, with a tight smile, although it seems fractured around the edges. It throws her. Slowly he gets to his feet, drawing himself up to his full height. He takes one step towards her. "But it's too late for all of that, Mer. You're too late to send me on my way to find... what? Someone else? Some other life?" He shakes his head, and lets out a small burst of laughter, takes another step closer. "I hate to break it to you, but you're it for me. Good and bad and everything in between. You're... it." He shrugs, like it's nothing - like it's irrefutable. Perhaps it is.

Her heart is in her throat. "What are you saying?" 

Another step, until her feet are framed by his own. He looks down at her with a calmness that she doesn't feel. His hands reach up to brush her upper arms, a gesture that soothes as much as it makes her body leap to attention. 

There's a curve of a smile around his mouth. "You're stuck with me, I'm afraid." 

Whatever fight left in her drains away with his admission, and she wants to be mad that he can do that to her - defuse her like this, disassemble all her arguments until they are just broken pieces at their feet. But even then she can't deny the profound sense of relief that washes over her with his words. He's not going anywhere. _He's not going anywhere._

She presses her forehead into his collarbone, the warmth of his skin hitting her, even through the fabric of his shirt. The familiarity of the motion comforts her, lets the tension in her shoulders fall away. 

She thinks to the ring box upstairs. "Are you really sure?" she asks one final time, muffled against him. There is something about all of this that she can't quite believe - like the world must be playing a trick on her.

"Of course," he replies, the rumble of his chest vibrating underneath the press of her skin. "More than anything." 

"Even if I call you Derek?"

She doesn't expect the low chuckle that emerges from him at her question. She pulls back to stare up at him in surprise, to find that he's smiling. 

"I'll get used to it," he shrugs, with a scrunch of his nose. Her hand slides its way to the nape of his neck and she watches how he exhales in response to her touch. "Maybe I'll just change my name by deed poll."

She laughs properly for what feels like the first time in a long time. And then she kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback, kudos and especially comments are very welcome and much appreciated
> 
> thank you all for reading


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